Twelve to Murder (A Mac Faraday Mystery) (3 page)

“I wanted your opinion.”

“About what?”

A sly grin came to David’s lips. “What do you think?”

“You want to know what I think?”

“That’s what I just said.”

“I was a homicide detective for twenty years. I investigated more than two hundred murder cases.” He looked over at the deck doors leading into the kitchen where Doc Washington was examining Janice Stillman’s dead body. “In all those cases I investigated, the only place I ever saw a victim spell out the name of her killer with her blood was in the movies.”

Chapter Three

In the upscale resort town of Spencer, Maryland, where many of the residents were listed in “Who’s Who,” the small police station resembled a sports club. Its fleet of cruisers was comprised of top-of-the-line SUVs painted black with gold lettering on the side that read “SPENCER POLICE.” Located along the shore of Deep Creek Lake, the log building that was home to the department sported a dock with a dozen jet skis and four speed boats. For patrolling the deep woods and up the mountain trails, they had eight ATVs. Like the cruisers, all of the vehicles were black with gold trim.

After following David to the station, Mac jumped out of his sports car to meet the police chief at the door of his cruiser. “Someone else had to have written Lenny’s name in Janice Stillman’s blood. I called Doc and she agrees with me that the victim would have bled out too quickly to have written it.”

“Either that, or Lenny killed her and wrote his own name in order to make us think that.” David led the way across the parking lot to the small police station.

“Is Lenny Frost that smart?” Doubt filled Mac’s tone. “The guy has made a career out of making bad decisions. People like that don’t think that far ahead.”

David pressed his way through the door. “They also tend to do dumb things to solve their problems—like murder.”

Mac’s comeback disappeared from his train of thought when he stepped inside to hear a baritone voice say, “Not only do I feel violated, but I feel—these monsters stole something from me that I’ll never get back. I spent four days handcuffed to a bed. I couldn’t go anywhere. They didn’t just take away my freedom, but they made me realize the true meaning of a word I have heard uttered so many times without realizing what it really meant. Victim. And I swear, with God as my witness, that I will never again be a victim.”

Mac and David stopped to watch the image on the flat-screen television that was perched high on the wall in the corner of the room, almost to the ceiling. The officers kept the news tuned in and muted. With the media reporting on their murder case, Tonya, the desk sergeant, had the sound turned up. While the screen filled with quick changing images of a red-haired young man at various stages of his life, the announcer recounted the highlights of Lenny Frost’s life:

“Speaking in a manner that sounded eerily like Andrew, the role in the first Mickey Forsythe movie that won him an Academy Award, Lenny Frost told Barbara Walters about being kidnapped and held for a million-dollar ransom. Little did Lenny dream that his life would go on to mirror his award-winning role. At the age of seventeen, he was abducted. The whole nation searched for him, and four days after his disappearance, his abductor abandoned him in a deserted cabin in the mountains outside of Los Angeles and Lenny called the police. Lenny, who had been heavily drugged during his captivity, was able to tell the FBI, who investigated the case, that he had overheard his kidnapper, small-time actor Carson Drake, phoning his partner with the news that he had received the ransom. Leaving Lenny handcuffed to a bed, Carson Drake was last seen going off to meet his mysterious accomplice. His car was found hidden on an isolated mountain road.”

The television screen was filled with a publicity shot of a handsome young man with dark curly hair and chiseled facial features. “Carson Drake has become Hollywood’s D.B. Cooper,” the journalist announced, “with strong debates about the kidnapper’s fate.” A film clip showed the diminutive actor in what appeared to be a situation comedy with a canned laugh track. He had the build of a teenager.

“He doesn’t exactly look like a legendary criminal to me,” Mac noted.

“Billy the Kid was only five feet eight inches and weighed one hundred forty pounds,” Tonya said.

“To this day,” the newscaster continued, “Drake has never been captured by authorities, his partner was never identified, and the million-dollar ransom paid by the studio was never recovered. Some believe he was killed and his body was disposed of by his co-conspirator. Others believe it was the other way around and Drake left his car behind to make it appear as if he had gotten lost and died in the mountains. As for Lenny Frost—”

The image on the screen was of a teenaged boy with bright red hair whose face glowed with rapture over being at the top of his chosen profession.

“—it is easy to understand the effect these traumatic occurrences would have on a young man. Even an adult would have difficulties. To have lost the love of his life and to be the victim of a kidnapping—all before the age of eighteen. A brilliant actor with a genius IQ, Lenny Frost had the brightest of futures, but then—”

“Seems the media has already identified their prime suspect,” Tonya said while hitting the remote to mute the broadcast. “Lenny Frost hasn’t seen this much media attention since he got kidnapped.”

Tonya had lived on the lake her whole life. Many suspected the long hours that the desk sergeant put in at the station served as an excuse
for not going home where
two of her three grown children had returned with their offspring after a short time spent in the outside world. She had three dogs that she doted on more than her kids. She claimed the dogs were more self-sufficient.

“Genius IQ?” Mac asked about the comment he had heard on the broadcast before she muted it.

“I didn’t know that either,” Tonya said. “They reported that his IQ is one sixty.”

“I’m impressed,” Mac said. “What was that about the love of his life?”

“Kate Coleman,” David said. “Gorgeous pop star. Long dark hair and big doe eyes.” He sighed. “I admit it. I had a crush on her. Lenny was two years younger than her. He was fifteen years old and dating Kate Coleman. I think they were the pop world’s power couple for a good year.”

“Then she drove her car off a mountain road in the Hollywood Hills,” Tonya said. “Kids envy these child stars—all the fame, glitz, and money—but when you look at how they turn out—like Lenny Frost…” She shook her head. “It’s very rare that you hear of one who comes out right on the other end.”

“Look at Lenny Frost now,” Mac muttered while glancing up at the montage of images of the young man who had so much, only to have lost it all. “A genius with no idea how far he had to fall.”

David shook his head. “Lenny and I have the same birthday. We’re the same age.”

With a start, Mac noted David’s youthful features and slender, fit build.

The image on the television screen shifted to a present-day interview with Lenny. The fresh-faced teenager had given way to a muscular man with a hard face marked with deep lines. His eyes were dull and sunken. The bright hue of his hair had been washed out until it turned the color of rust.

“Proof that it’s not the years, it’s the mileage,” Tonya said.

David studied the image on the television screen. “When I was in high school, a lot of guys were jealous—envious—of Lenny Frost—being that young, driving fast cars—”

“I heard about the time he led the police on a car chase through Hollywood in his Porsche at one hundred and five miles an hour,” Tonya said with a scoff of disgust.

“When you’re seventeen and you have to mow lawns for your gas money, you can’t help but admire someone like Lenny Frost who has girls all over the world throwing their panties at him.” David gestured at the man on the screen who looked at least fifteen years older than him. It was hard to believe they had been born at the same time.

Mac turned to Tonya to ask, “Why would a woman throw her underwear at a man?” After she responded with an exaggerated shrug of her shoulders, wide eyes, and raised eyebrows, he turned to David. “Why would a man want a woman to throw her underwear at him? How is that a good thing?”

Not having an answer to his question, David gestured at the image of the has-been celebrity on the television screen. “Think about it. Lenny is the exact same age I am and he’s already reached his peak. Awards, women, money, status—”

“Used underwear,” Tonya interjected.

“—It’s all gone. It’s one thing to reach for it—but to have had it and lost it all before you were even old enough to drink—”

“Speaking of drinking, Lenny has been in and out of rehab like the center had a revolving door.” Tonya handed David a sheet of paper. “Back to business. Report from the security firm that monitors the Stillman residence. The alarm was never tripped. The system was turned on and activated at the door leading into the garage at six seventeen. The rear door was opened and the security passcode was input at seven thirty-one. Then the alarm was reactivated on the keypad at that door.”

“That jives with the time the witness saw someone with red hair and a loud cell phone on the back deck,” Mac said. “The witness saw him let himself in with a key.”

“Could have been a master key,” David said.

“Not only did he have a key, but the killer also knew the security passcode to turn the system off.”

“Which means we’re not talking about a common household burglar,” Tonya said. “The security company says the code was changed less than a month ago.”

“This wasn’t a burglary,” Mac said. “Nothing was taken. It was an execution.”

“The assassin turned the system back on after letting himself in so that the Stillmans wouldn’t get suspicious when they returned and saw that it had already been turned off,” David said. “He actually laid in wait inside the house to ambush them when they came home.”

“Which happened at eight twenty-seven,” Tonya said. “The front door was opened and the security passcode used to turn off the system. It was never turned back on.”

“Eight-thirty,” Mac said. “That’s when the murders happened. The killer was inside and waiting for a full hour to blow them away when Janice went into the kitchen to put away the leftover chicken cordon bleu.”

A loud snort from the direction of the sofa drew Mac’s attention away from the police sergeant.

Stretched out and lying on his back, the hundred-pound German shepherd took up the whole sofa. His hind legs were splayed apart. His front paws were bent up and actually folded across his chest. The dog’s head was tilted back so far that his fangs and some of his teeth were displayed to resemble the underside of a shark.

Gnarly was sound asleep and seemingly unaware that while he was snoozing, someone had tucked a cigarette into his mouth.

“What’s
he
doing here?” Mac gasped out.

Tonya’s grin turned into a smirk before she giggled out, “Lady Tala’s mother ended their romantic weekend together early.”

“Why?” Mac asked before turning to the sleeping dog to demand in a low voice, “What did you do?”

Gnarly let out a snort, took in a deep breath, and continued sleeping.

“Gnarly is,” Tonya referred to her notes. “and I quote—the horniest dog I have ever seen in my life. If Lady Tala isn’t pregnant after the last twenty-four hours with him, she never will be. I can’t take it anymore. They had me up all night with their lovemaking. I’m going home, steam cleaning my sofa, and getting some sleep. End quote.” With a laugh, she tossed the notepad onto her desk. “She also said to thank you for the use of your pure-bred German shepherd, even if he is a horny beast.”

“Way to go, Gnarly.” David patted Mac on the shoulder.

“I thought Molly was Gnarly’s girlfriend,” Tonya’s voice had an accusatory tone when reminding them of Gnarly’s friendship with Chelsea Adams’ service dog, a white German shepherd trained to detect epileptic seizures in time for her mistress to take medication before their onset.

“She is,” David said.

“Fay is Archie’s friend. Her husband left her for another woman,” Mac explained. “She doesn’t have a job and her husband got almost everything—except his prized champion German shepherd. So, she asked if Gnarly—”

“You pimped out Gnarly,” Tonya finished. “How much are you getting for Gnarly’s services?”

“Nothing,” Mac said, “and it was Archie who pimped him out, not me, and she volunteered him to do it as a favor.”

“Obviously,” David said, “Gnarly had no complaints about doing this favor.”

“Don’t you even get one of the puppies?” Tonya asked.

“The last thing I need is a son of Gnarly wreaking havoc at Spencer Manor.”

David looked down at Gnarly, who was still sound asleep. “Looks like he’s having a better weekend than you are, Mac.”

“Are you having a bad weekend, Mac?” Tonya asked.

“He and Archie are fighting,” David said.

“Really?” Tonya picked up another note. “She didn’t sound mad when she called earlier. She wanted to make sure that you would be home for dinner. She’s making your favorite. Tuscan rib eye, garlic mashed potatoes, parmesan tomatoes, and a decadent bottle of Italian red wine.” She winked at him. “She didn’t tell me what she has planned for dessert.”

Guilt stabbed Mac through the heart while he reached for the message from the desk sergeant. 

“Make-up dinner followed by make-up sex,” David said.

“What did you do to her?” Tonya narrowed her eyes to peer at Mac. Her maternal tone demanded a response.

“I did nothing to her,” Mac said before muttering under his breath. “That’s the problem.”

He found an empty desk in the squad room to plop down and stare at Archie’s message. It was his favorite meal. Something about Archie’s Tuscan rib eye, the way she made it special for him, made him want to hold her and never let her go.

This is killing me. Maybe that’s the idea. In the right hands, kindness can be a fatal weapon.

“Hey…” David snapped Mac out of his thoughts. He swung around the chair next to the desk and straddled the back. “Just heard back from Bogie about Derrick Stillman’s alibi.”

“What was it again?”

“Date.” David referred to his notes on his notepad. “He said he spent the night with some woman in Georgetown. Madelyn Preston. According to his story, he left her apartment at three o’clock and drove straight out here to his parents’ summer place.”

“Georgetown is three hours away,” Mac noted.

“Not exactly a quick trip to bump off your folks while picking up a cup of sugar from the corner store,” David said. “If he was with her in Georgetown, he couldn’t have murdered his parents here in Spencer.”

“Does his alibi check out?” Mac asked.

“Police can’t find her to ask,” David said. “Her apartment is a sublet. The apartment manager has no information about how to get in touch with her. The woman on the lease is in the navy and stationed on an aircraft carrier in the Mediterranean. The Georgetown police will keep trying to track Preston down to verify Stillman’s story.”

“It’s still early,” Mac said. 

“Do you think we should issue a warrant for Lenny Frost?”

“We can’t not issue one,” Mac said. “At the very least, someone is trying to frame him. He must have some idea of who that someone is.” He laid the message sheet on top of the desk.

David’s eyes followed Mac’s to the phone message from Archie. “Care to talk about it?”

“No,” Mac said in a firm tone. “Do you think I’m a coward?”

David chuckled, “Why would you even ask that?”

“I’m not talking about walking into a gun fight,” Mac said. “It’s…” His voice trailed off. He swallowed. “Archie is a very perceptive woman.”

“You’re right there.”

“She called me on something.” He shook his head. “Hit the nail right on the head.”

The two men sat in silence. David watched Mac stare at the message sheet as if to burn the image into his mind.

“I want to marry Archie,” Mac finally said in a voice that was barely above a whisper.

“What’s stopping you?” David’s voice was equally soft.

“I loved Christine, too,” Mac said. “I had no doubt in my mind back then that it was right. Twenty years later…” He raised his eyes from the message sheet. “If Archie was to do to me what—”

“Archie isn’t your first wife,” David said.

“Christine wasn’t the same woman I married when she cheated on me and left me with nothing. She’d changed. I’ve seen so many cases of couples who change and…if that happened with Archie and me…”

“So you’re scared. That’s what’s stopping you. Fear.”

“Yeah,” Mac said with a nod of his head. “Archie says she understands—”

“They all say they understand,” David said, “and they do. They sincerely try to be patient. But eventually they become frustrated. Friends are getting married and having babies, and they want to start a family and their clocks are ticking. Before long, the frustration turns into resentment, and how can two people stay together when they resent each other?”